Loading ...Waging Life in a War Zone
Jen Marlowe
YES! Magazine
Mohammed al-Saedi leads me through the densely populated Gaza City neighborhood of al-Zaitoun. Walls are painted in blues and pinks, with wooden shutters of purple and yellow. Plants are potted in colorful buckets at each corner.
“Color and flowers give the human positive energy, relax him, and provide much-needed comfort to the soul, heart, and mind,” says al-Saedi, a slender man of 57, wearing a paint-splattered shirt.
The initial idea had been small in scope: to beautify his home with flowers and paint. But neighbors took notice and encouraged al-Saedi to spread the beauty. Some donated funds, others labor or ideas. Abu Adnan Nayef was experienced with wood and iron and offered to partner with al-Saedi. “Our idea became bigger: to make all Gaza Strip as beautiful as possible.”
Nayef points to an overhead lattice with colorful bucket planters and lanterns dangling from hooks. “These are broomsticks. Don’t be surprised! We make beautiful things with simple materials.” Tires, wood, iron—all are salvaged and recycled to adorn al-Zaitoun.
“Paintings and flowers are psychological treatments to reduce the severity and pain of poverty. It brings self-reliance,” al-Saedi says. They believe the beautification project helps lessen the pain in Gaza from wars, siege, and destruction, especially for children.
Throughout Gaza Strip, painters, photographers, theater artists, musicians, and filmmakers are using their art not just as a form of therapy, but also as a tool of resistance.
“What we did in the street is a strong reply to the occupation,” al-Saedi explains, referring to Israel’s 48-year military occupation of the Palestinian territories. “The occupation insists on killing the Palestinian people and destroying us psychologically, culturally, and scientifically, in addition to destroying our civilization, history, and future. But the occupation will figure out that the Palestinian people can make life from death.” He points to war debris that had been converted into planters. “We say to Israel: Destroy as much as you’re able, and we’ll build and plant [again].”
Nayef receives Facebook messages from people all over Gaza Strip who want to start similar projects, but lack of resources limits expansion. Tamer Institute for Community Education, a local nonprofit established during the first Palestinian uprising against the Israeli occupation, and Kinder USA, founded by American physicians and humanitarian relief workers, have provided some much-appreciated support, but much of the funding has come from the pair’s pockets. “We have many talented people,” al-Saedi says. “[With enough resources,] you’d see something new daily.”
A large tank shell lies overturned next to a community garden that they planted. The shell is a remnant of last summer’s war on Gaza, in which 2,205 Palestinians and 71 Israelis were killed. Nayef lifts the missile upright and places a pink rose on its nose. “I’m going to make something beautiful from it,” he says.
Tamara and Sarah Abu Ramanda, 20- and 23-year-old sisters from Gaza City, are also committed to making something beautiful: music.
Tamara began playing violin two years ago, primarily teaching herself with YouTube videos, and Sarah is a singer. “The violin is small but makes a large sound,” Tamara says in her soft yet confident voice. She relates to the instrument. “Even if you’re small, you can create a lot of music. You can make others really hear you.” It’s not easy for young people trapped in Gaza to be heard outside, Tamara explains. “I can talk through my violin. I can tell the world that we exist.”
Music provides the sisters an escape from the pain of war, the injustice of occupation, and the isolation from living under the siege imposed by Israel when in 2007 the Islamic party Hamas wrested control of the coastal enclave. It’s also how they fight back.
“The main purpose of any entity who wages wars on a weaker country is to break the will of the people,” Tamara says. She practiced violin during the 2014 war despite criticism from friends who thought it inappropriate to play music while people were being killed. “I have to continue to [play violin] to show the world that the occupation can’t destroy our will and determination,” Tamara insists. “It’s a kind of resistance not to give up. We don’t want to submit to the occupation.”
Israel wants Palestinians to be regarded as primitive and backward, Tamara says. Through music, she feels she challenges those stereotypes. And traditional music is a vehicle to claim Palestinian heritage in the face of an occupying power that expropriates Palestinian land, resources, and also culture. “It’s a way to say we’ve existed for a long time, and our culture will continue to exist,” Tamara explains.
The sisters are also resisting internal oppression through their music. “Because both the occupation and [the Hamas] government,” Sarah begins, “oppress talents,” Tamara finishes.
Sarah recalls months of rehearsal in 2013 for a project called Gaza Singing for Peace. The morning of the concert, the Ministry of Interior in Gaza informed the group that they couldn’t perform “because boys and girls in the group were singing together in front of people,” Sarah says. After placing calls to various high-level officials, the young musicians eventually obtained government permission and performed in front of an enthusiastic audience. But the incident served as a reminder that culture in Gaza is controlled by Hamas.
Theater artist Ali Abu Yassin and filmmaker Khalil al-Muzain are well aware of Hamas’ control of cultural expression. There can be no overt sexuality in their scripts or screenplays. Women’s costumes must adhere to conservative Islamic values. In one film, al-Muzain didn’t follow these norms. “The day of the screening, [government officials] took all the material, the machines, and closed the venue,” he says.
Friends warned Abu Yassin against producing his play “The Cage” because it was critical of the political leadership. He produced it regardless and escaped consequences, but believes it was because he is well-known. “If someone else produced this, I think that Hamas would arrest him,” he says.
Mustafa Sawaf, Hamas’ acting minister of culture in Gaza, admits that artistic work might be censored if it doesn’t “match the culture of the society” but claims that political criticism is welcome. “Any government has to accept criticism,” Sawaf says. “We are human, we make mistakes, and the aim of art is to deliver a message about societal improvement and evaluation.”
Abu Yassin also used to criticize the former ruling party, Fatah. The difference between criticizing Fatah then and criticizing Hamas now? “Now I feel afraid,” Abu Yassin says.
Censorship of Palestinian culture is not new. According to Palestinian theater historian Samer al-Saber, the Israelis practiced it (and in some ways still do). In the Occupied Palestinian Territories, the Israeli military governor (or his appointed committee) censored plays either because the content invoked Palestinian nationalism or because “performances constituted public gatherings, which were often banned without regard to content,” al-Saber says.
On matters of principle—freedom of women, political pluralism, human rights—al-Muzain doesn’t compromise. But he avoids triggering Hamas’ censorship by expressing his ideas diplomatically. It’s either that or clashing with the Hamas authorities, staying silent, or emigrating—options he’s eliminated. “I know my society; I want to develop it,” he says. “France doesn’t need me, America doesn’t need me. But Gaza needs me.”
“In 1970, Gaza had 12 cinemas,” Abu Yassin says. Today there are none. Gazan society has become increasingly conservative over the years, a trend that has intensified since the Islamic Hamas movement came into power, Abu Yassin says.
Source: www.yesmagazine.org